


Denial, Denial, Denial.

by echriste12



Series: dont talk  about your issues, he says. [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, jake went through a lot, post undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echriste12/pseuds/echriste12
Summary: Jake's time undercover was spent bloody, beaten, and bruised.When he gets back to work he doesn't tell anyone about it, he doesn't know why. Probably wanting it to seem like everything he imagined when the FBI came to him to describe the mission.





	Denial, Denial, Denial.

**Author's Note:**

> there's some blood and stuff like that, nothing too graphic but this is a warning. there's also a couple panic attacks. they don't go too in depth or anything, though.
> 
> This is not edited, so please excuse that. This is also my first B99 fic :)

When Jake gets back to work at the 99 he doesn’t talk about how being undercover actually was like. The elevator ride up to the floor was the most nervous he had been in a long time. He knew they were going to ask questions on what it was like, if it was everything he dreamt of when he took the job. It wasn’t, not even close.

He asks about the precinct first and what happened when he was gone, to stall for he didn’t know what. Holt appears out of nowhere and tells him he only has 12 seconds to talk about the last six months of his life, that is the moment all of the anxiety spills out of his body and pools onto the floor at his feet, metaphorically.

He brings up the boxing match, the cigar, and the Sal’s. He doesn’t bring up the fact that the loser of the boxing match died and that the winner was shot point blank by Leo a couple days later- Jake had a front row seat. He doesn’t bring up the fact that the cigar was from a box that belonged to a man that Jake had shot, point blank in the head, he brought the box back to his apartment and smoked one on the window sill- the cigar didn’t make him throw up but the flashbacks did. He doesn’t bring up the fact that the Sal’s were part of a human trafficking ring and were still roaming the streets of New York. 

He hides it all very well, he thinks. Cigars were not as nice as cigarettes- a habit he picked up in the mafia- which he could smoke on the roof in a corner where no one noticed him. Gun shot wounds hurt less if you take the bullet out right away, he learnt that when him and Derek were stuck in a shootout- Jake shot on the shoulder and Derek not at all. Not that night at least. He drags Jake to his apartment and grabs a knife and a towel that he stuffs between Jake’s teeth and then gets to work. He hides it very well, no one asks and no one notices, something that Jake really wanted.

He went through so much undercover, his body doesn’t look like his anymore, he isn’t scared of pain anymore and that makes him reckless in the field. One of the first cases he is assigned is a murder case, he works it with Charles. And when they do door duty, the prime suspect opens the door a crack and then when he sees their badges he bolts. Jake follows him, after knocking down the door. The window was open, telling Charles to meet him to get the perp but after Charles runs back down the hall, he hears a crash from one of the rooms off of the kitchen. Before he can even open the door the perp is barrelling towards him with a sharp steak knife in his hands.

A shocked Jake doesn’t react right away, giving the perp enough time to get the upper hand and when he does he has Jake on his back, pinned down with the knife coming down at his face, Jake dodges it just in time and flips the perp onto his back, knife becoming jammed in his thigh during the scuffle. He doesn’t notice it until Charles is back and somehow he’s got the perp in handcuffs and is reading the Miranda rights. 

“Jake.” Charles says with his eyes wide, staring at Jakes leg. The wound still has the knife in it and is oozing blood from around the silver steal. Jake doesn’t feel it that much, a dull ache in his leg, and really forgot about it until this moment.

“Just, there’s a first aid kit at the precinct, right? I don’t need to go to the hospital if the kit has something to stitch this up with,” Jake replies calmly, putting his hands on the wound around the knife and trying to put as much pressure as he can without moving the knife, “I need you to process the perp, though. And take him to the car, and drive.”

Charles nods and doesn’t say anything, just hauls the perp off the ground and starts walking to the car they parked on the street. Jake followed behind, barely even limping.

Jake asks Charles to bring the kit into the break room, or to get someone to bring it to the break room as soon as they get back. When the elevator doors open and they start to walk out in silence, Jake a few steps behind Charles and still limping a little bit. None of the detectives notice at first, not until Terry yells across the bullpen.

“Jake, you got stabbed?” Once that last word falls out of his mouth, heads fly up from across the room and the captains door opens.

“Yeah, it happens, nothing I haven’t had to deal with before,” it honestly slips out of Jake’s mouth before he realizes and the eyes on him get even wider and more concerned. He freezes when he realizes what he said.

“Peralta-“ Holt starts, Jake cuts him off before he gets another word in.

“Just, get me a first aid kit, I’ll be in the break room.”

People start to notice the change in Jake after that. He’s angrier, Rosa points out. He’s careless, Amy says back. He’s quiet, Charles says it quietly, like he’s defeated. No one else says something, they are sitting in a booth at Shaw’s and Jake had declined the invite earlier in the evening, just like he had most nights since he got back.

It has now been two weeks since he sewed himself up in the break room after being stabbed. The squad needed to know what happened to him, he isn’t Jake anymore.

“Have you seen him in an interrogation? It’s like it only takes five minutes for a perp to confess with him in the room. He is very scary.” Terry says, after a beat of silence and then taking a sip from his beer.

“He had a earphone in one time and didn’t respond when I called his name a couple times and when I tapped his shoulder he freaked out.” Charles replies too Terry. 

“He was brought into the seven-six a couple months into the mission,” Holt says. All eyes turn to him. Everyone waits for him to continue. “I was notified by the FBI, there was a deal that went wrong, Jake and a couple other guys were cornered and an explosion went off, too close to him. When he was brought into the interrogation room, his face was bruised and his ear was bleeding. I think it was too late to save it at the moment.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Charles asks.

“I was ordered not too,” Holt replies, and takes a drink from his glass of wine. “I wasn’t told of what happened in the mafia, but I think Jake didn’t have as much fun as he said he did.”

After his leg heals enough, the next case Jake works is with Amy, they hadn’t talked much since he got back, because he wasn’t talking to anyone. But more specifically, they haven’t talked about what Jake said to her before he left, before she didn’t see him for six months. She was still with Teddy, but their relationship was fizzling out with every second that passes. It’s like she was waiting for Jake to say something, say that he still liked her and then that would give her enough of a reason to break her relationship off. 

He didn’t, though. It’s like he doesn’t remember, it’s like he’s a completely different person. 

The case in question they are working on is a drug bust, staking out a sleazy bar waiting for a deal to be made so they can make their arrests. It’s nighttime now, almost midnight Amy’s phone tells her. Jake is quiet, looking into the binoculars every couple of seconds and not making small talk and cracking jokes like he normally would.

The only thing that is familiar about the old Jake from seven months ago is the plastic bottle of “blue drink” in the cup holder.

Amy is pulled from her thoughts by Jake cussing loudly. When she looks over at him she sees a dark stain on the front of his shirt and a significantly less full bottle in his hands.

“There should be a shirt in the back seat, can you get that?” Jake asks and has already gotten the first couple of buttons undone on his current, now soaked shirt.

After rummaging around for a minute or two, Amy pulls out a shirt from a backpack stashed on the floor behind Jake’s seat. When she turns back to give Jake the shirt, the sight she sees is completely new to her.

Working closely with everyone on the squad means they have all seen each other in certain states of undress, and Amy knew that Jakes chest had little muscle definition and was dusted with hair, his stomach was a healthy amount of rounded and that his arms were big enough to left things that she couldn’t but never really bulged. Now, though, his arms, stomach, and chest are well defined. But that’s not what she is looking at, she’s looking at the slashed scars that come from being stabbed littered across his sides, a couple gun shot scars on his shoulder and arms, one still fresh and pink as it heals and the others older, and she notices he’s got small burn scars over his chest, ones she assumes are from cigarettes.

The worst of the scars she sees are on both sides, identical in placement spiderweb up across his ribs. No doubt from being electrocuted. Her mind flashes back to what Holt said at the bar, knowing now that Jake was lying when he said he had fun undercover. She doesn’t mention the scars, though. Instead:

“So,” she starts once Jake finishes buttoning up his shirt. She notices his shoulders tense under the fabric and he looks at her, something in his eyes she doesn’t remember seeing before. “When did you start working out?”

He lets out a huff of breath and his shoulders relax. “With Mikey, a couple months in. Once I actually became part of the crew. Kept up the habit when I can’t sleep.”

They both know the last part just slipped out and Amy doesn’t question it, something she knows Jake didn’t want her to do. Instead, she pictures Jake, shirtless and un top of her, arms on each side of her head. She pictures him kiss his way down her neck, biting and leaving marks every so often. She pictures way he can use his new muscles. But she also pictures them sitting on the couch, kissing every mark on his body and whispering “I love you” and telling him he’ll be okay, staying with him until he falls asleep and again when he wakes up.

She looks over at him then, pain clutching at her heart and her stomach. He is not the same Jake, no matter how hard they try he will probably never return to the way he was. In that moment, she knows she loves him. Actually and truly loves him.

They make the bust a couple hours later, Jake telling her to go home and that he will finish with the paper work. She breaks up with Teddy the next evening, and doesn’t tell anyone.

Two days later, Jake gets assigned a murder case with Rosa. They are warned that it is bloody and gross. It’s the first time since coming back he has a flashback, and then a panic attack.

They get to the crime scene fairly quickly after being assigned the case at the morning briefing, Jake walking in first as the primary followed by Rosa. There are a couple uniform officers there already taking notes, pictures of the scene and trying to find all usable evidence. The body lay in the middle of the scene, covered by the black sheet. 

The crime scene was the victims house, neatly organized with nice paintings on the wall and a fully stocked fridge. The complete opposite of Jake’s own apartment. 

Rosa was the one to pull the sheet off of the body, the victim was a female, aged mid to late thirties and she was a successful business woman. Jake was walking around the apartment and getting notes from the beat cops already there. By the time he gets back to Rosa she is almost done examining the body, and is only alerted by his presence by the fact he sucked in a large breath when he laid eyes on the body.

The victim had a slash in her neck, no other marks on her body and no murder weapon near the scene. When Rosa looks back at Jake she realizes he’s gone pale, his eyes are blank, and his body is stiff as board. 

She knows something is wrong, Jake doesn’t freeze on the job like this, but when she stands up and shakes him, trying to get him responsive again, and he doesn’t move, worry clouds over her mind. Somehow, she gets him walking and leads him out of the room and into a quiet corner in the hallway. When he finally comes back to her a minute or two later, his eyes are wild, his body starts to shake, and he starts to hyperventilate.

All Rosa knows what to do is hold him as he shakes and cries into his shoulder, she doesn’t know what to say, she doesn’t think talking will help anyways so she doesn’t even bother. Within ten minutes she can feel his shoulders slowing down in there shaking, and she knows he isn’t crying anymore. None of them say anything for a while, it’s just them sitting in a corner with Rosa holding Jake, and Jake letting her. It’s the first time he has felt safe since he entered the bar on the first night.

“Sorry about that,” Jake says after a while and starts to get up.

“Why did that happen, Jake?” Rosa asks, not letting him get up until she gets her answer. 

Jake shrugs, as an answer and to get Rosa’s arm off his shoulders. “We have work to do.”

And with that, he walks back into the apartment. It was the first time Rosa had some one-on-one time with him since he got back. The only other person was Amy and she told them about what happened in the car the next night at Shaw’s- Jake declined the invitation again. By now they all know that Jake had a rough time undercover. Amy mentioned a couple scars on his sides from knives, and a gun shot through his shoulder. 

Sometimes, Rosa will be sitting at her desk working on some paper work and she will look over at Jake, sitting at his computer completely enamoured by his paperwork. He will have dark bags under his eyes, something even more prominent with his pale skin. His eyes will be lifeless, it was the first thing Rosa noticed when Jake walked into the precinct the first day back, she also noticed the way he hunched his shoulders in on himself when he sat down at his desk, like he was protecting himself. It’s like he didn’t trust his squad anymore, or he thinks they don’t trust him.

Rosa knows she should ask him about it, make him talk to her. The only thing that’s stopping her is the way he would react. It’s not the same Jake, not the one she met in the academy, where he would make stupid bets and agree to the one thousand pushup pact. It’s a different Jake, one she doesn’t recognize, one she doesn’t even know. She knows that if he reacts bad, she could lose him forever. 

She wouldn’t be losing Jake, though. He is long gone, she will be losing this shell of a person that looks like her old best friend. 

Jake solves the case within two days, no matter what happened to him he was still a hell of a detective.

The thing about Holt’s relationship with Jake is that he has never cared for a person the way he cares for Jake. He obviously cares for Kevin, his family, and the rest of his squad, but Jake is different. He knows Jake has “daddy issues”- what he and the rest of the squad calls it- but Holt knows it’s more than just that. It’s abandonment issues and never in his life does he want Jake to go through what he went through when he was seven years old and his dad walked out. 

It’s that care for Jake that is dangerous, Holt thinks. When Holt walked into the room behind the interrogation room in the seven-six, his heart completely broke. There was Jake, handcuffed to the table, slouching over it and looking defeated. He looked like the seven year old kid again, except this time he was covered in blood that Holt prayed wasn’t his, his face was bruised and he couldn’t hear out of his left ear.

The next time he say Jake it wasn’t any better. He healed physically, but Holt knew he hadn’t healed mentally and would repress the trauma and the stress he was feeling for a long time. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes were cold. If he hadn’t had the same face- except for a scar on his forehead- Holt wouldn’t have recognized him.

He’s sitting in his office, reading over some paperwork that Charles had handed him twenty minutes prior when his cellphone starts ringing on the desk beside him.

“Peralta?” Holt says as a greeting.

“Something’s wrong.” Jake chokes out.

“Where are you?” 

“Briefing room.”

Holt dashes out of his office before Jake even finishes the sentence. The briefing room’s blinds were closed so no one could look in, something Jake must have done when he arrived to the room. When Holt enters he locks the door behind him and goes and sits next to Jake in the far corner.

His legs are pulled up to his chest, his skin is pale, and his eyes are red rimmed. Holt’s heart breaks at the sight, and his own eyes start to feel a pressure as they fill with tears. He goes and sits next to Jake, close but not too close, and doesn’t say anything. He knows he can’t push Jake in a moment like this and he just wants him to calm down as best as he can. 

Eventually Jake’s breathing returns to normal, and he stops shaking. None of them had said anything up until this point. Holt breaks the silence first.

“Jake,” his voice cracks with emotion, “I need to know what happened.”

It wasn’t a question, Holt wouldn’t take “no” for an answer and Jake knew that.

“It was slow, at first,” Jake starts, “I did what I was told, I went to the bar the FBI told me to go to. I met Leo, said I just got fired as a police officer and then it was slow from there for a couple months. They didn’t trust me, obviously. I know Amy told you about the scars, I don’t know how much she told you, though. Right before I joined the crew, there was a mole in the family. They thought it was me, so they chained me to a chair for a couple days. First it was small stuff, like sticking cigarettes into my chest, and then I remember one night they electrocuted me, I only know that because the scars. I don’t remember a lot of that moment. They still hadn’t found the mole, so the next day they put me on my stomach and whipped my back. I remember that one, though. Before they could do anything else they found the mole. The only way I could get hire in the crew was to kill him.

“I slit his throat one night, in his apartment. He was really happy to see me, didn’t know that they found out he was the mole, didn’t know he was going to die, didn’t know that Mikey was right beside me out of sight to finish the job if I couldn’t do it- and then kill me, too. I did it, walked right up to him and did it before he got a word in. Me and Mikey left with a slap on my back, opening up the wounds form a couple days prior. And a promise, that I had made it. 

“The first job was the one where I got caught, along with Derek. The one that fucked my ear up. I know you were there, I know you knew. After that, I spent my days working out with Mikey in the morning, meeting with Leo and then running jobs. Sometimes they would go south and I would get shot, or stabbed. That’s it.”

Jake didn’t cry, his voice didn’t waiver, he sat on the ground, arms vice gripped around his legs as he stared straight ahead with the cold eyes, the ones with no emotion. Holt let the words wash over him, he knew Jake didn’t want to get into it and he only told Holt the bare minimum, but it was a start.

He puts his hand on Jake’s shoulder, Jake only flinches a little bit. “I miss Jake Peralta, everyone does.”

“I don’t think I know who that is anymore, sir.”

“You do,” Holt replies, and gets up off the floor. Extending a hand out to Jake, who doesn’t take it. “I want you to be better, son. I don’t like seeing you suffer.

When Jake looks at Holt after he said the last part, his mouth twitched into the beginning of a smile. And behind the new tears filling his eyes, Holt recognized a flash of something in them, something he could only relate to Jake Peralta.

His nickname undercover was “Jakey”, he hated it now.

Every time he pulled the trigger on someone who owed Leo, or when he would do a job perfectly, Leo would pat him on the back and say “good job, Jakey”. But along with that, Mikey called him Jakey at the gym when he beat Mikey in pull ups, or when he was just drunk enough to loosen up and have fun at the bar, everyone would call him Jakey through their laughs.

Once the nickname stuck, he made a clear disconnect from Jakey and Jake Peralta. Jakey was the guy with amazing aim with a gun, the guy who could drink you under the table, or the guy who wasn’t scared to kill, who would do anything for Leo. Jake Peralta was the complete opposite, he still had good aim, but he stopped chugging back alcohol, he tried to get out of the “cool” murder cases as much as he could, and the thought of Leo makes him sick.

The only problem, though, is that Gina has a habit of calling him Jakey. It stemmed from their childhood and she only says it when she wants something.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon and Gina is scrolling through twitter, just like normal. Amy and Rosa are out on a case, Charles is taking is lunch break later then everyone else because he was a little too caught up in his paperwork, and Terry is sitting at his desk processing the perp he just brought in. Jake is sitting at his desk, eyes staring blankly at the screen.

“Jake,” Gina calls out, mainly because she is bored but also because Holt wants to talk to him in his office. Jake doesn’t respond, doesn’t even respond. “Jake, Jake, Jake.”

When she starts to annoy Terry by calling out Jakes name she decides to actually get up to get his attention. She skips over to his desk, he still doesn’t look up when she plops down on the edge.

“Jakey,” she says in a sing song voice, “Holt wants-“

She is interrupted when Jake looks up, something clouding his vision. His eyes are dark and cold and his face is set like stone. Gina is scared, this isn’t who her friend is, she wants him back.

“Don’t call me that.” His voice is hard, like he can’t let anyone know what he is feeling. He gets up, and walks into Holt’s office and leaves Gina sitting on his desk with her mouth hanging open and Terry staring at her with pity. 

Once she regathers herself, she walks into the break room and collapses on the couch. It is there that her head falls into her hands and she really lets herself come to terms with what happened. You don’t grow up with Jake Peralta without learning to repress feelings instead of actually talking about them. That’s what she had done, from the moment she realized Jake was ignoring her calls a couple weeks undercover. At that point, she still believed that he was fired. 

She was angry, at Jake, at Holt, at the FBI, but more importantly herself. It had been three weeks since Jake got back and he was still coming into work every morning with bags under his eyes and staying until he got kicked out by the night squad. She only knows that because a couple of them came and complained to her about Jake. Everyone knew that something was wrong since the first day he got back, no one made the first move to talk to him, though.

Her soft sobs filled the break room as she cried into her hands. Only one thought was racing through her head “I lost my best friend, I don’t think I can get him back”.

That night, when she knew he was home because it was almost eleven, she went to his apartment. She still had a spare key that he gave to her when he first moved in, she decided not to use it, though. She didn’t want to scare him like earlier. So she knocks, and then when there is no answer she knocks again.

When Jake answers the door he doesn’t look good. He’s tired, and he looks like he’s one second away from having a break down. 

That night, Gina just holds him as he cries into her shoulder, sobs probably heard throughout the building. It hurts, it hurts so much because Jake is bright, lively, and loud. He’s the sun, and he should always be the sun. He isn’t anymore, and Gina doesn’t know if he ever will be again.

They talk that night too, once Jake calms down a little bit. 

“I miss my best friend.” Gina had whispered into the dark apartment, not knowing if she expected an answer or not. 

“I don’t know who that is anymore.” Jake had replied.

“You do,” Gina said in response, hand still running through his hair. “You’re still Jake Peralta, you’re just not okay right now, and that’s okay. You don’t have to be okay, I know bad things happened and it’s hard to heal but you’re never going to get better if you don’t try.”

“I don’t know how, though.”

“Talk to people about it. I know you don’t think you can trust us, but you can. We are still the same people, if you start telling us what happened, then maybe you can come to terms about it? I don’t know, I’m not a therapist but I think you should face your fears. No one is going to leave, we love you too much to leave.”

Jake starts changing. He doesn’t get any better, but he starts taking sleeping pills that allow him to fall asleep, he starts cracking jokes with the squad again and he tries to be happy. He knows he should be happy, he’s got a good job that he loves, friends that want nothing more for him to be happy. But he’s not. He still gets flashbacks from being undercover. 

The only thing that got him through those months was the nine-nine and his friends there. When he first met Leo in the bar and started doing low level jobs and hanging out with the crew it was honestly fun. There was no killing yet, just selling drugs and moving weapons, and like he told the squad working on computers. He spent his nights doing small jobs or hanging out in their regular bar and singing Billy Joel. He was having fun until people started to think he was the mole, and then after when he was fully accepted into the “inner circle” of the crew.

After that it was a lot of sleepless nights due to the nightmares he had. Either killing someone or someone from the crew finding out he was undercover and killing him.

The best night of the six months was the day he was told when this was all going to be over, in a weeks time he would be walking back into the nine-nine like nothing ever happened, and he wanted it to be that way. He wanted to go back to it was, pining uselessly over Amy, doing fun stakeouts with Charles and having silly banter with Holt, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t trust them, he couldn’t really trust anyone.

Two months went by, Jake was sleeping better- with the help of pills- the light returned to his eyes a little more every day, and he stopped taking every mission as a suicide mission. He started being careful on the field again. He started going out with the squad after they finished the day, started laughing and drinking with them again, like it was before he joined the mafia.

What the squad doesn’t know, is that Jake sleeps with his light on, and he can’t fall asleep until well past midnight and his dreams are plagued with blood, explosions, and guns. And not in a cool way. In a way that makes him scream until he wakes up in a cold sweat. They don’t know that the only thing in his fridge is beer and last nights take out, drinking until he forgets his name and can’t walk to his bed from the couch properly. They don’t know that he hasn’t watched Die Hard since before he left. They don’t know that every time he gets in his car or is walking down the street alone he always looks behind him and takes way more extra turns than necessary, in case he is being followed.

They think he is okay, but every time he gets back to his empty, dark apartment and after he turns on all the lights and checks all the rooms for someone who was waiting for him to come home so they could kill him. After he does all of that, he sinks onto the couch and feels like he’s drowning, or he’s got four hundred pound shoes that don’t allow him to walk: he feels like life is passing him by and he can’t move forward, or at all.

Four months since he got back from being undercover, ten months since he left, he can’t take it anymore. He’s tired of pulling on his hair every night as he sobs and sobs, of waking up screaming in the middle of the night, of being paranoid of every little corner, he’s just tired. So, two months of not being okay and not trying to hide it, and then two more months of not being okay but pretending he is, he decides he’s had enough.

It’s past midnight by the time he makes it to his car but he’s nowhere near tired. The drive doesn’t feel long, the music playing softly in his ear as he quietly hums along. Finally he is outside the building, he can only sit in his car for a couple minutes as to build up the nerve to walk up to the room he needs to go to, he needs this, and he should have done this a while ago.

“I’m not okay,” he whispers when Amy finally opens the door. It took a lot of loud knocks for her to wake up. Her hair is down and messed up on one side from the pillow, and she has her glasses on, and a baggy t-shirt and sleep shorts on. In Jake’s opinion, she has never looked more beautiful. “I should have done this when I got back, but, I don’t know. I couldn’t.”

“Jake,” she says, pulling him by his arm into her apartment and sitting him on the couch.

“I love you,” Jake whispers out. He’s crying, he doesn’t know how long he has been crying but he is now. “I loved you before I left, I loved you while I was gone, and I loved you when I got back. I couldn’t tell you when I was not okay, I kept putting it off because I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I’m not okay, I don’t know if I will ever be okay but I can’t keep hiding it anymore.”

It feels like the most he’s talked to someone since getting back. 

“I love you too.” Amy replies, one hand on his back and he other running through his hair. He looks up at her, tears falling down his cheeks and down hers too. When he looks into her eyes, they hold promise in them, same with her words: “I’ll help you, I love you even though you are broken and that doesn’t stop me. I’ll help.”


End file.
